


Broken cups

by szszsz



Category: The Mentalist
Genre: F/M, Mild Hurt/Comfort, POV Patrick Jane
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-04-09
Updated: 2017-04-09
Packaged: 2018-10-17 00:32:04
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,431
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10582689
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/szszsz/pseuds/szszsz
Summary: The cup brings back all those memories and feelings that he couldn’t express till now and Jane is speechless. So there he is, sitting in the night illuminated by dancing little lights, holding the metaphor of his life in his hand.





	

**Author's Note:**

> This is how I interpret the way in which Jane and Lisbon's relationship was presented in the final season. You may not agree with me, but personally I think this way the story gets a little bit deeper than what meets the eye. Enjoy and feel free to comment. Thanks.

Jane is speechless. It’s July 30th, his birthday ( _yet_ _another one_ in his life) and he was lucky enough to be spared all the confusion and awkwardness attached to its celebration. Actually, it’s been nice, really. Lisbon made an effort to keep him comfortable – nothing that would remind him that he’s older, but still showing that she remembers. She didn’t say a word at work, but she bought him a cupcake with a candle (the ones with sprinkles are not his favourite but it’s fine). She even put the lights up around the Airstream in the evening. Jane’s touched, honestly. This is already enough to keep him content, but then comes a surprise. She gives him his favourite cup. The same one that got broken in the fuss when the CBI was closed when he _almost_ caught Red John. She kept the pieces and she put them all together. The cup brings back all those memories and feelings that he couldn’t express till now and Jane is speechless. So there he is, sitting in the night illuminated by dancing little lights, holding the metaphor of his life in his hand.

“It’s such a beautiful gift, thank you” he says simply, because it’s the only thing that comes to his mind, and he hugs her so that she can’t see his face. He feels a little broken again. Because. That’s that long forgotten cup, put together, piece by piece. You can still see the cracks in it, but Jane can bet that it would still hold the tea inside without leaking.

And isn’t their relationship like that cup as well? A broken shell of his previous life; same cup, but somehow different. Jane wonders if Lisbon did this consciously. Probably not; she simply just thought that giving him his favourite cup back was a good idea. She didn’t ponder about what it actually meant for him. How could she? They’re so different. Friends, but not soulmates. Yet the thought of losing her constantly terrifies him. That’s why although he knew it was Lisbon’s chance to build a healthy romantic relationship with Marcus, he couldn’t let her do it. He couldn’t just stand there and watch her go. So he did what he would always do – he took control of the situation. 

(Well, that time it didn’t turn out exactly how he expected, but he still saved the day, didn’t he?) 

He had it all planned. He found a simple case in nice, warm Miami, he rented a classic maroon car at which sight he knew Lisbon’s knees would become weak, he booked rooms in an exclusive hotel. He searched the web (the fact that he seldom surfs the Internet does not mean that he doesn’t _know_ how to do it) and while he was looking at the hotel’s catalogue, he was imagining kissing Lisbon in that room. It looked perfect, all of it. A walk on the beach, solving the puzzle (which he made _so_ simple and still almost had to spell the solution out for her), catching the murderer and, since the room was already paid for, having dinner, drinking the most exquisite wine on the list, talking, sharing memories of ten years work together. Such a good day. All of this had to lead to a more intimate talk about feelings. He knew exactly what to say and what Lisbon’s replies would be. His big revelation (so awaited by her) about him, not wanting her to leave (like she wouldn’t already _know_ ) and that, _oh_ , the star of the evening: his confession. Admitting that he had _feelings_ for her.

Not exactly the _same_ feelings that she had for him, but did it really matter?

Romantic, platonic – love is love. And isn’t that a beautiful thing?

So there, here’s the rub. Lisbon’s been in love with him for quite some time before he asked her to stay that day on the plane after his elaborated plan didn’t work out. Even earlier, she had a crush on him. Of course he knew. It was flattering – having this admiring, yet distant boss who couldn’t openly admit her weakness. She had this charming appearance of a grown-up child from a broken family, but he wasn’t really that interested in her more than that.

He loved Teresa. He loved her for a long time as well, but he’s never been _in_ love with her. He probably never will, but the thing is – it doesn’t matter to him.

Of course, it would matter to _her_ if she knew, but Jane is going to make sure she never finds out. Because it _really_ doesn’t matter. Explaining this would ruin the peace that he craves so much and that’s what this is all about. So what if their relationship had all the intimacy and commitment when it lacked passion? He is going to make it up to her, he’s going to give her everything – an origami swan, a vintage car, orange blossom ice creams, anything she wants. And he's going to compromise on the little things. Anything to make her happy, to make her stay.

It terrifies him of course – the idea of being attached, being close to someone again. The reasons for that are obvious; even more, considering the kind of job they both have. He doesn’t feel the thrill of catching criminals any more; these days, he doesn’t feel much excitement in general, to be honest. That doesn’t mean he’s not happy.

Just, all he wants is _peace_.

Jane feels old. Like a thousand years old tree. He knows now that life is not a race; he doesn’t have to fill the void inside him with money and fame as he used to do. He’s no longer obsessed with Red John and he's no longer driven by that pursuit. Instead, he approaches his new life and the new relationship with Lisbon slowly and attentively. It’s a kind of meditation, like the ones he normally does during the day.

In his meditations, he dreams about the sea. Gentle waves break around him in carefully measured slices of time and everything is blue; the sky and the water (so different from red _red_ blood) merging smoothly, one into another. He likes to dwell on that dream and to feel how his breathing becomes steady and heavy as in deep sleep and his head lightens and clears up as he thinks of nothing. There’s just him and the blue. That’s where he finds happiness, where he feels safe and whole again. He wants to take Lisbon with him there; he wants to show her the sea and the sky, and say “all of this is me; please stay.”

But she doesn’t really understand, like she doesn’t notice what’s missing in their relationship. She’s a wonderful person, strong, loyal and sweet, but she can’t see things the way he does. So he kisses her shortly, not passionately. And she doesn’t know.

Just the other day, Jane notices that Lisbon isn’t focused on the lecture on the safety at workplace. Her face is empty and she’s staring into the void, her eyes glistening and cheeks slightly blushed. Oh, right. She’s probably fantasizing about having sex with him at office. He turns his head away. He _really_ didn’t need to know that.

He enjoys making love with her. He feels the lust when he touches her (but he can’t touch her around the belly, cause she’s ticklish. It’s _so_ funny and surprising.) Who wouldn’t? She’s a beautiful woman. But he doesn’t fantasize about her like she does about him. He knows _why._ There are lots of reasons for that. For instance, whenever they’re intimate, she tends to treat him a little bit like one of her brothers. There’s nothing wrong with that, it’s natural that she acts around him as she does around her own family. They’re close, after all. So he doesn’t object it and it doesn’t put him off, but he just doesn’t desire her… that much. There are other little things, to little to even mention them. And the fact that he’s probably idealizing his dead wife doesn’t help him in bed with Lisbon.

But they’re doing fine, they really are.

Two broken people who are doing quite alright together.

Jane thinks about all of that as he holds his cup, the cup that _Lisbon_ put together. She looks at him and their eyes meet. He drowns in that gaze like in the sea. He thinks about how love is sometimes like a storm and other times like a gentle breeze, and decides to give it one more chance.


End file.
